Jareth and The Labyrinth
by LittleWhiteNightOwl
Summary: How did Jareth become king of the Labyrinth? His mother has been missing for years, and one day young Jareth finds the manuscript of a book locked away in his father's room...
1. In which Jareth finds a Book

Once upon a time far away there was a land that held the Labyrinth. It was a barren land, full of twisted trees and dark soil and dusty sand. One could stand at the beginning of the Labyrinth (although none knew where it began) and could look for miles and miles at the stone maze stretching before him. He could turn around and there, too, would be the labyrinth, until he would wonder if you were at the beginning or simply in the middle once again. This was how the Labyrinth was kept alive and, for a while, it was good.

The land that held the Labyrinth held nothing else. One could say the Labyrinth was a planet of it's own, or a country of it's own, or, perhaps, a universe. It wasn't and it was and all it was was the Labyrinth. It lived and shifted when it was told, or when it pleased and it enjoyed itself immensely. It's memory was commendable by all, excepting those who were in it, and in all history of time and space, there was only one who knew the Labyrinth better than it knew itself. But even he has grown with the turning winds, and now he sits in his tower of cold stone and watches the walls shift and move with a certain boredom. He is tired and lonely, and wonders if it could have been different, should have been different. And so, day after day, hour after hour, the King of the Goblins grows weary of the chattering voices and turns instead to the past. He takes a crystal from a special stone and wraps his gloved fingers around it, as a child might hold a beautiful stone. Leaning against the cold stone wall with a sigh, he looks once again into the crystal to the past, to see what was, what is, what might have been.

He had always been a strange child. The tall, thin pale features and dark eyes worried the other children, scared them. They loved, and feared the tall boy, Jareth. He would walk to school, everyday, reading something different than the day before, the dark smudges under his eyes tell tale signs of late nights. When he walked the air would swirl behind him, as if disturbed in a strange way, and some of the young girls swore the birds were quiet behind him. He was kind enough to the other children, who all seemed small and unimportant next to him. It wasn't that he tried to be different, he resented it actually, it was his presence. There was something about him that made the children want to stop and stare, reaching out their fingers to brush at the pale skin, but when his dark eyes looked towards them, they shied away in fear. Jareth would stare for hours into the mirror in his mother's room, looking at his eyes, wondering how they affected people so, and always he would see nothing but dark pools, shadowed by too- long hair. Then he would shake his head, and wander off towards his room, to read or paint. He seldom spoke, but when it did, it meant something. He hadn't spoken until he was five, and then it was in a complete sentence in answer to his mother's question about the origins of the stars. He had told her that they were crystals that were sown up in the sky to help the planets see their way. Upon which, after the initial shock of hearing her son speak for the first time, she gathered him into her arms and smiled, and told him that he would be a great man someday. He had loved his mother very much, and missed her more everyday. He would swear to his father that he could see her face in the mirror sometimes, smiling sadly, but his father would only nod and look away.

And so, he read. He would read a book everyday, over and over sometimes, learning. Jareth had never thought that school was enough, or even that it was useful, and so each day, he would discover on his own what he considered to be important. He studied mythology and legends, and sciences…nothing escaped his comprehension. There was a feeling deep inside him, that he was searching for something, a key…to a world that was not his own, that could be reached by him. Somewhere to go and stay, and wait…for whatever it was the he was waiting for. And then, one day he found what he was searching for.

One morning, before Jareth had to leave for school, he was finishing up the last of his new book on Greek mythology. He was reading about Daeldius, the fantastic inventor, who had created a prison so great and perilous that it took on a mind of it's own. He built it to house a minitor, a creature of the underworld, and designed it as a trap to challenge adventurers. Jareth was fascinated. He re-read the part of the book over on the way to school, and when he entered the class, he asked his teacher about it. She told him to speak to her about it after class, when she had more time, and never did a day pass more slowly.

At the end of the day, she wiped her hands on her skirt, sat down at her desk and looked up at him.

"Well, young Jareth, what is it?"

When Jareth spoke, the world seemed to grow quiet and listen. He had a voice that was very soft, and yet so full of strength and commitment it could inspire the most courageous of heroes.

" If one were to build something, hypothetically, and it was such a masterpiece and miraculous work, could it become alive?"

His teacher regarded this strange boy, the book in his hands, the searching eyes. Some children were different, she knew this as a teacher, and some could be told things, while others could not.

"Jareth, what you have there is a book about something that happened a long time ago. It was a different world then. There were different magic, different places, different people even. You could not create a living thing no more than I, with the exemption of having a family. But Jareth, you must understand. It isn't because it isn't possible, it is because we cannot do it."

"But if it is possible, why can't I find a way?"

"I never said you couldn't, boy. You can find a way to tap into the old times, you can even find ways to become part of something that was long ago, and still is. You have to have the heart, and the mind, and the soul for it. Without even one of those, you will fail."

The old woman looked at the boy, Jareth. She knew where he had come from, she knew that his mother was gone, taken away from her son by the very thing that she was warning him about now. She knew that his father would never say a word to his young son about his mother, or himself and what they had attempted. It was remarkable that he had come this far on his own, but he was, after all , his mother's son. She saw that he understood, but more than understanding, it was knowing. He knew that she spoke the truth, and the truth was hard to come by for him.

"Thank you."

She nodded, and reached down under her desk, dismissing him. She looked up a second later, recalling something, but the boy was gone, leaving a stirring wind that stirred one of her books open, leaving the words of the pages hanging in the air in a way which she had not seen since she was a child.

The King of the Goblins dropped the ball, shattering it in to millions of tiny pieces of crystal. It filled the stone room with chimes and light, but only for a moment. He did not see it. The king had turned his head against the cold stone and rested his cheek against it, staring out the high window once more. Smoke drifted lazily from beneath walls, and cackling laughter reached his ears. The air smelled of smoke and dust and sorrow, and the sky seemed to be mocking him with its swirls of faded gray. He whispered a word, and the scene changed, the walls became higher, wreathed with vines, and the murmurs became softer and easier to ignore. He drew himself up from the wall, and walked over to the mirror across the circular room. Dark eyes greeted him there once more, and this time there was a pale hand on his shoulder as a woman as transparent as a ghost smiled at him from the glass.

"Mother…"

Jareth whispered her name and she was gone, leaving him to stare at the mirror alone. Jareth had always loved this mirror, the faces etched in the wood frame never frightened him, just interested him. The goblin mirror, he had always called it, which had disturbed his reclusive father greatly. This was the only mirror he could see his mother in, and he came to it often, looking for her. Now, in the mirror he saw himself, holding a tattered orange book he had stolen from his father's bookcase. It was always locked, this case, but Jareth had found the key. Inside was only a book, poorly bound, no more than scrawls on worn paper. He removed it, locked the case and replaced it carefully, and then he looked at the book again. His father's name was on the front, as well as the title. It was the title, which made him sleep with the book for two nights under his pillow, not reading it until the third day. It frightened him, and he didn't know why.

The Labyrinth

When Jareth first opened the book, he knew that it was going to be different from his mythology book. There was a map on the first page, of a castle, and the caption told him it was the castle at the heart of the Labyrinth. Jareth looked at the tiny picture only briefly before turning to the first page that held his father's messy script. It was difficult to read, but Jareth knew his father's writing well, so it was not too difficult. He was hidden away in his room, the only light came from his large window, and it made the dust dance in the rays of light that let themselves in. His father was gone, away as he often was, on business of the most important kind, and so Jareth was left to read the book in peace. His fingers brushed the brown pages as he read, and he could feel the world the story created come to life around him. He could see the stone walls and smoke as if he were there, hear the shrieks of the creatures, and smell the distrust on the wind.

" Once upon a time there was a land that held the Labyrinth…."

And he was lost to the story of a woman who lost her child to the sneaky King of Goblins, and was on a desperate adventure to get him back. There were drawings in the book too, of maps and strange creatures (goblins they were called) and even one that looked strangely like the boy's mirror, with the caption reading only _Door or Window, whichever you believe. _ Jareth read on through the night, fascinated and delighted with each new discovery made by the characters. It did not take him long to finish the book, not at all, but he read it 3 times that night, and did not go to school the next day, for he fell asleep on the chair in the morning.

It was only when the book fell from his hands in sleep, that a pale piece of stationary slipped from the last few pages and fell to the ground. Jareth slept long, and dreamed wonderful dreams, and it was not until sundown when he heard the door open and his father return.


	2. In which Jareth meets the King

" Jareth! I'm home, boy! I've brought supper. Stop reading and come down to eat."

The voice echoed up the staircase into Jareth's room where it found him in a panic. He grabbed the book and shoved it under his pillow, making his bed quickly, he nearly slipped on the stationary, but shoved it in his pocket and hurried down to dinner.

The King of the Goblins was not unhappy, but he was not happy either. He had been happy when each new year brought with it children and explorers, searchers and wishers, who would come to seek and try their strength in his maze. But the king sensed a change in the winds, a change he felt coming long ago. He new that the old magic was fading. Not as it had faded before, out of sight, but not out of memory….no, this time it was different. He could feel the old musics seeping back into his world from the other, the magic returning because there was no place for it there anymore. The times were changing, the people were, too. The children were less anxious to discover for them selves, less likely to learn of the secret places….the old ones who remembered where told not to speak of such things, until even the stories stopped being told. Without the stories, Jareth, the King of Goblins, was nothing. Even as he had come to reign over a secret world, so he was fading out of it. He returned his gaze to the mirror ringed with faces, and once again was greeted by his reflection, but a reflection showing himself not as what he was, a king….but a reflection showing him what he used to be…a starry-eyed boy.

The teacher had noticed a change in the boy, Jareth. The fairy-boy, she called him in her mind. He was solemn, sullen, and the circles under his eyes had grown darker. She could see his house from hers, and several times during the nights, she had awoken to see his light on, hours past midnight. He no longer looked the other children in the eyes, but darted quick, nervous glances about the room. His eyes watching something that wasn't there. The old woman worried. After all he was his mother's son, and, at the rate which the boy made discoveries, he didn't have long until he ended up with her. She couldn't do anything, she could only worry, and she did this faithfully.

Jareth wasn't feeling well. He rarely slept anymore, his dreams haunted by nightmares. His hands shook, and his face was pale. He passed his time in public quickly, quietly, fading from existence , feeling as if he didn't belong. He felt as if he had been given the key to a lock, while the rest of the world was struggling to find out just what it was they were looking for. It wasn't until a week after his discovery of his father's manuscript that he remembered the paper in his pocket and took it out to read it. It was the content of this paper that left Jareth standing in front of his Goblin mirror, with a sack on his back, a compass and lantern in his hands, to search for his mother.

Journal,

I know the way into the Labyrinth! I have figured it out, and I intend to venture there with Samuel the day after our wedding. Why then, you ask? Well, it is best we get the ceremony finished first, so we can really be together. I will feel safer knowing we are bound by more than just love. My vacation here with my mother is quite dull, and I can't thank Samuel enough for sending me his manuscript. It is perfect! It contains everything we've discovered together. I wish I was there with him now, especially knowing the wedding is only three days away.

Emily

Journal,

Terribly sorry I haven't written, but with the wedding and all I was very busy. It is over now, thankfully, but I realize now that Samuel and I can't go into the Labyrinth yet. You cannot image my disappointment when I realized this, but you see, we have a responsibility now, to each other and to our lives! We cannot run off like children to a fairyland. Someday, I will though. Samuel and I both, when we are ready.

Emily

That's all the paper was…a faded journal entry bearing his mother's name, but that's all it took. So much was explained to Jareth by this little piece of paper, it was like all the secrets to his life had been discovered, and they had. And so Jareth, not quite fourteen years old, packed his things and prepared to enter the Labyrinth. He did not know why his mother had stayed and his father had returned, he did not know if he would be able to get out, or once out, get back in….the only thing he was absolutely sure of was that if he stepped into the mirror in front of him, he would be in the Land that held the Labyrinth.

Jareth used to wonder what would have happened to him had he not stepped through the mirror that night. He used to think of things like family and friendship and even love, but those things were lost to him now. There were things that stayed with you in the Labyrinth, important things that kept you alive and well, and there were things like hope and love. And in time, when something is not present, it is forgotten. It is the way of mankind. So there was no hope, or love, or family for the King. Jareth knew of the world outside his, but he didn't care anymore. There were those who made their way into his domian, the strong, the magical, the seekers, and there were those who never did. There was nothing else. There might have been, once, but not anymore.

The boy had stepped through the glass as simply and easily as if it was a curtain. He stepped out onto a hill, of sorts, though it was dusty and barren, except for a small, dead tree, gnarled and black. A few sparse blades of grass braved the hot wind here and there on the hillside. The hill didn't have a base, it was part of the stones that were the ground and the walls of the endless maze that stretched around it. Jareth smiled, he knew it had been real, and he knew that his mother was here somewhere, at the end of the maze. He was young, and hopeful then, and although he was wise, the Labyrinth didn't frighten him nearly as much as it should. At least not at first. Then, as he watched, the walls began to change. Smoothly, soundlessly, they shifted and disappeared and reappeared until they had created nothing and everything again. Jareth swore he could hear laughing in the humid air. His smile turned into a set jaw, and he clutched his compass, drawing upon his courage to take his first step. He did not even get that far when the tree next to him grinned and blinked at him. Jareth stumbled, gasped, and would have fallen down the hill had it not been for the tree's black arm that reached out and grabbed his ankle.

"Wha—what?" The boy sputtered, dusty and frightened.

" Wrong way, lad." The tree said. Its ivory teeth flashed white against the dark body. It didn't open its eyes.

"But I haven't even begun!"

"Precisely. You were facing the wrong direction for one thing."

As Jareth looked around, the scene changed again, becoming foggy and ominous.

"That's more like it!"

"But-but..I didn't even do that! I didn't do that! It's worse that it was before."

" You didn't do that? Well, whatever you say, boy. What's done is done, and this is done and it's safe even though it doesn't look it. That the first rule, don't trust your eyes."

"Then what do I trust?" The boy was one his feet now, dusting his trousers with both his hands. The little pack was still safely swung around him, but his compass had rolled down the hill.

" You can only trust trust itself, boy." The tree yawned a great, gaping yawn, and was silent.

" trust trust?" Jareth muttered to himself as he began to scramble awkwardly down the hill. It was more of a slide than a walk, and Jareth had to catch himself at the last minute, as he found the bottom of the hill was the top of a wall. The wall was a crumbling stone, and to the left were more walls, and to the right were more walls. But on the right, far away, there was smoke, and cries and shrieks, and the boy took it as a guide. He began to walk on top of the wall, balancing on the narrow path, tripping on the vines as they reached out to pull him down.

He had only walked a hundred yards when the labyrinth began to shift. He struggled to stay on his feet as the wall he stood on squirmed underneath him. Then, suddenly, it disappeared, and he found himself falling. He didn't fall very far, only a few feet, and landed next to a great pool. It was perfectly circular and glassy, and it reflected the sky perfectly. Jareth stood up and leaned over the side of the water. He saw himself, but his eyes quickly changed to blue and instead of his face there was his mothers. She smiled and beckoned him closer with a white finger. He reached out, and, leaning to far, he fell, into the pool.

He landed, standing, on the other side. The other side as in, inside. He looked back into the pool, and felt he had fell into a mirror of where he had just been. But it was different, he was now in a cavern. That glowed orange and had faces carved into the walls.

"Wrong way!", said the faces, " Turn back!"

"I can't turn back, because back there was the wrong way too. I have to trust trust itself, and I can only trust that I'm going the right way. I have to be, I saw my mother's face in the water."

A particularly sad face moaned at him. " You're wrong of course. Go back!"

" Be quiet!" Jareth was confident in himself, and even thought he was frightened a little, his voice held power. The faces were silent and the boy walked towards a door that he just noticed in the wall. The door was ancient and wooden, full cracks and cobwebs, and it seemed to have been built for someone much smaller than him. He leaned down, to grasp the rusty knob in his fist, but it dissolved into dust at his touch. The door creaked open, warily. Jareth began to enter, but, he turned around to inquire of the faces. He found them gone, or not completely, but faint traces of eyes and noses remained in the walls. Where the faces once had resembled humans, they now looked like skulls, shrouded with spiders and cobwebs. Jareth shuddered and ducked through the door.

To his surprise, he found himself in a room. It was comfortably furnished, and had a fireplace and deep red carpet. There was a small table between two chairs and it had a loaf of bread at it's center. The room was lit entirely by fire and candlelight, and sitting in one of the chairs, there was a little girl.

Jareth walked silently into the room, turning the handle of the door shut behind him. The door looked completely different from this side of the room. It was whole and silver, and reflected the room nicely.

"Hello?" He asked, cautiously. "Who are you?"

"My name is Daemion. Why are you here? You were not invited to come." She looked a little angry. She was very small, with curly blonde hair, and a pale dress. It was her eyes that scared Jareth. They were yellow, with dark slits for pupils and they gleamed with the intensity of a terrifying creature.

"I-I am looking for my mother…" Jareth was frightened more of this little girl than he was of anything he had encountered so far. " She came here when I was little, and she got lost. I know she's in here, and I want to find her."

"You are brave for one so young. Do I frighten you?" Daemion turned towards the fire. Her voice was too low for a child.

Jareth looked at the child and saw great power. He knew it was in his best interest to be honest with one so powerful, for power often favors honesty but practices it not.

"Yes, I am very afraid, sir."

"You are remarkably perceptive, Jareth. And honesty. I like this. I will allow you to continue, although you have come far in only your first hour. I know of the woman of which you speak, and also of other things concerning her. But I will not make this easy for you, boy. You will have too work hard to find her, but you know this." There was now a man in the chair, old and withered, but his eyes were still the sickly yellow. And then the man was gone and there was a cat, black as night, licking it's paw on the chair.

"You know of my mother?! Where is she?!"

"Demands will get you nowhere. But perhaps nowhere is the direct route to somewhere…depends…" The cat purred.

"You are the king…of the goblins, yes?" Jareth guessed., "So you know the direct route better than anyone. You have no need to give me encriptations, except for your own amusement. That's all this is to you, isn't it? A game?"

The cat laughed, turning back into a girl again.

" Of course, boy, this is a giant maze, isn't it? It's exactly like a game. Well said." The girl was a vulture now, and it whispered before it dissapeard. "And Jareth? You're welcome…"

And it was gone.

The room turned suddenly cold and dark, the furniture gone. There was a musty smell that emanated from the far wall, away from Jareth. He wondered at Daemion's parting words, but concluded that, in time, he would understand if the goblin king had truly helped him or not. He stepped farther into the darkness, reaching out his hand to touch the damp walls in front of him.


	3. In which Assistance is Discovered

Jareth, the King of the Goblins, as he had been for a hundred years, curled his hand into a fist. He shook it at the mirror, but dare not break it. He had kept the mirror from his childhood from harm faithfully, and having fall prey to his temper would destroy years of upkeep. The mirror really served no purpose here, except as a scrying instrument, or an interesting decoration. The man ran his gloved fingers over the distorted faces of the creatures framing it in defeat. His childhood had been replaying before him for hours, and each moment, each memory that came back to him made him more angry at the starry eyed youth he had been. When he had first become king, Jareth had been hopeful, even happy, in spite of the circumstances, that he could guide people in the labyrinth. He laughed out loud, despite his solitude. What a fool he had been. There was no room for hope and happiness when one was trapped in a Labyrinth for a hundred years. No wonder he had killed Daemion so easily…he must have been anxious to leave. Jareth laughed again, dryly, and settled back to watch more of his past in the mirror that had started it all.

The boy had been walking for hours. There was no way out, he had decided, and he was going mad. There had been four dead ends in the last half an hour, with three of them entailing some sort of pit or poisonous gas. It was mere luck that he was even alive. He had lost all his belongings to the last pit, and was left with only his map that was tucked away in his back pocket. The map served little purpose here, as it was a map of the inside of the castle, but Jareth felt better having it. At least he would have a way to navigate once he got out of the labyrinth and into the goblin village. If the goblin king had helped Jareth, he did not know it. He was frustrated and frightened and near tears when he slumped onto a large rock near the side of the path. He was out of the stone walls, and into a sort of forest now, but it really made no difference, as the underbrush was impregnable. He had to stay on the path, or at least within a few feet of it, and even if it was possible to wander from it, he wouldn't. His journey these last few minutes had been plagued with moans and howls that were enough to made a grown mad afraid, much less a boy. Jareth closed his eyes, and rubbed his dirty hands through his hair. Laying back on the rock, he quickly slipped into a troubled sleep.

When he awoke, he was no longer in the woods. The air was clear and there was blue sky overhead. He was lying on the ground, and as he sat up he could see what looked like a large turtle strolling around the bend. It's back was shaped and colored exactly like the rock Jareth had fallen asleep on.

Still half asleep, he shook his head and laid back on the ground. He remembered then, that he had had a very peculiar dream. It was something to do with the sky, and as he looked up at the flawless blue, he tried to remember it. The images were just on the edge of his mind, but he could not reach them. Sighing, he got up and looked around. He couldn't see the forest at all anymore, there was just miles and miles of fields. The grass was long, about waist high, but it was divided neatly for the path. The trail bent back and forth, and this puzzled him, because he could see that there was nothing obscuring a straight path. He looked to his right, at the turn that the creature he had fallen asleep on had walked by, and then he looked straight. If he squinted, he could see the trail making another bend far away, but still straight ahead of him. It would be more practical to just cut through the grass. He began to walk a few steps of the path, when voices stopped him.

" I wouldn't do that if I were you, Jareth!," they giggled. There seemed to be at least three voices, but they all spoke at once. Jareth looked around and could see nothing.

"How do you know my name?" he asked to the air.

"Silly boy!," They laughed again, "You wear your name in everything you do! Every move you make screams your name!"

One of the voices separated now, and it was distinctly feminine.

"It is a rare gift, Jareth!", She whispered.

"Who are you? Where are you?"

They laughed again. Their voices were all around him.

"You can see us, if you try. You are magical!"

Jareth now remembered a part in his book. It had talked of creatures that made themselves invisible. The chapter had said that even when you think you are alone, there were creatures all around you in the labyrinth. There were people who could see the creatures, but they possessed a certain skill and control. Jareth doubted he had that kind of control, but he tried, just as the voices had said. He concentrated on the sound of the laughter, and sure enough, three tiny green fairies were hovering around his head. They were no bigger than one of his fingers, and their delicate wings were clear, like a dragonfly's.

"Oh!" he whispered, holding out his hands. One of them sat, crossing her legs in his palm. He stood looking at her for a while, until she spoke, and it scared him.

"You don't want to cut across the grass!"

Jareth jumped, but recovered and asked why, politely.

"Because of the grass, and the mud!"

"I don't really mind getting a little wet and dirty, in fact, I'm already both."

"It's not that!" She chirped and flew off his hands. The other two had gone, and she flew away quickly, blowing him a kiss. "Stay on the path!"

He put his hands on his hips, and looked at the field again. It was brightly sunny and there were flowers in the tall grass, dew sparkled, and nothing at all seemed wrong. He shrugged and stepped carefully into the grass. Fairies were known for their practical jokes, anyway.

He walked a few steps carefully, slowly, but there was nothing unusual in his walking. After about ten minutes, he lost all nervousness, and began to smile as butterflies flew up from the flowers.

Then the grass started to grow irritable. It began to weave itself into knots, catching Jareth's feet, tripping him and making it harder to walk. The sky became cloudy and the wind picked up. It was beginning to grow dark, and Jareth was starting to wish he had listened to the little things, as every step became harder and harder. The grass began to twine up his legs and into his shoes, until, in desperate earnestness, he tore off his shoes and was horrified to see them swallowed up by the earth. He tried to run, and was able to for a few moments by the loss of his shoes. The path was just up ahead, no more than two hundred yards, and if he could just get to it, he knew he would be safe. It started to rain, and the mud began to accumulate, sucking his feet down. There were centipedes and worms writhing in the earth and Jareth could swear that the grass was snickering.

He reached a point where he could move no longer. The path was right in front of him, firm and strong despite the rain. He began to struggle as the mud and grass pulled him down towards the crawlers that waited eagerly.

"No!!" He yelled….and then he remembered his dream. It all came to him suddenly, in a flash of lights and sound. He had dreamed that there was a white owl, that it was him. There was the sun and the moon and the rush of air in his ears. The goblin king's gift. An owl.

Without quite knowing what he was doing, Jareth reached inside himself. He ignored the scuttling bugs and drenching rain. He pretended the strangling grass did not exist. Then he reached inside his mind with the same concentration he had used to see the fairies. He found in the darkest corner of his mind a small white feather. The memory of himself as a child, finding an owl feather in the grass, his mother explaining him what it was.

_That's an owl feather, Jareth. Remember it. There used to be stories of people who could turn in to animals, but the favorite was a white owl. It was supposed to be lucky, guiding people through the night._

Jareth held onto that memory, pushing it into every corner of his being. He could see, feel himself growing feathers, his body growing smaller, more compact, his senses sharpening. The mud released its grip, because suddenly, there was nothing to hold on too.

And Jareth the white owl flew off away from the storm, following the path into the heart of the Labyrinth. The Goblin Castle, where he was sure he would find his mother.

There was one thing that Jareth knew about the labyrinth. One thing that never changed. At the center of the giant maze there was a castle that belonged to the king of the goblins, and surrounding that was the goblin village. The goblins that lived in the village ventured on occasion out into the labyrinth, to harass the weary traveler or the labyrinth creatures, but they mostly stayed in the village. A favorite goblin pastime was to spend the day, and even the night drinking and gambling, and they often gambled on the fate of the newest wanderer into the labyrinth. The goblins had little skills save one, they were remarkably perceptive. They sensed the discomfort within their king Daemion as he had returned from his excursion. They knew that the winds of change were blowing, and when the change began to roll in, so did goblin dice.

Jareth flew quickly in search of the castle. The beating of his wings was exhilarating, and each new air current that guided him filled him with happiness. There had been several times when he was nearly lost in a happy daze, flying in circles around in the breeze. His mission was becoming more obsolete as he whirled effortlessly in the wind. But then he flew over a lake, or pond with its waters so glassy that he could see each feather that extended into the dusty pale sky. In the reflection he again saw the face of a woman, with an expression so pained and sorrowful it made Jareth upset just to look at her. She pointed with a long arm and disappeared, leaving him with a new determination to enter the castle that peered down at him from black cliffs.

The goblin village was smaller than Jareth had imagined, indeed, the book had described it as a great stretch of streets and communities. Instead it seemed to consist only of s few pebbled roads, and house stacked precariously on top of one another. There was smoke and laughter in the air and torn banners and clothes draped the rooftops. Jareth was unimpressed, until he got a good look at the castle.

It was enormous, dwarfing the village so it looked like a moat around its edges. It was made entirely of black and gray rock, with glassy obsidian lining the rooftops and walls. There were wooden doors in four places around its outer walls, one the spilled forth a rusty, decaying drawbridge. Chain draped the walls and neglect only served to make a more ominous appearance. It was an intimidating castle, though it looked to only be in use in some areas, with the majority of the others rusty and decaying. There was a small curl of smoke from the largest, tallest tower and it was here the owl flew.

Jareth watched the last scene and shook his head. He had forgotten much of what life was like for him in the World, but remembered the strange consistency of the stories.

"The tallest tower.." He whispered to himself, and sighed. "How long…?" He wondered aloud, for the millionth time that week, that day. "How long must I stay in this prison…alone?"

Jareth didn't fly up to the room that was lit. he was more sensible than that. He knew that he had to figure out how to become a boy again, and that might take some time. He flew in through a small window and ended up in a staircase. The stairs were stone, and the passage was large and deserted. It was dark and the owl's eyes picked bugs from the walls and rats from corners. It was as good a place as any to attempt the transformation. And attempt it he did. For a long time. Jareth stretched his wings straight and thought of hands and fingers. He hopped about on the floor for awhile and pictured walking. Nothing seemed to be working. It was all he could do not to let out a squeal of frustration, as his claws clicked impatiently on the stone. After a while he began to tire of his failures and paused, his large yellow eyes shutting slowly and his feathered chest rising and falling with each heavy breath. He thought of all the hours, maybe days that he had been in this world. With no food and the only water he dared drink miles apart. He thought of why he had come, to search for his mother, whom he knew his father loved dearly. He began to think of all the human parts of Jareth; his love for his mother and father and his books, his desire for knowledge. Using these memories that now seemed so distant he pulled the boy Jareth out from the owl Jareth and was human again. He sat there, slumped against the wall, exhausted and hungry, but knowing that this was the climax to his story.

Wearily, he got up and began to climb the stairs, step by step. His legs began to ache, and he wondered why he had chosen such a low window. As he walked he began to recite a poem, moving his sore legs to the beat. The air was thin, and cobwebs made his words scarce and choppy, but still he repeated what he remembered.


	4. Where Jareth Learns the Truth

'And in the end you still will find

The never ending tales and rhymes

That lead you in this endless maze

But still don't pass the painful days'

_Panting, Jareth found himself at the top of the stairs. There was a door, wooded and crumbling like much of the other things in the castle, and to the boy's surprise it was slightly ajar. Controlling his loud breathing, he looked through the gap into a large, stone, circular room. There were gradual steps down into the center of the room, which was significantly lower than the outside, and there were rugs and animal skins thrown carelessly about them. Shelves lined the walls and were filled with what appeared to be glass spheres. The bare stretches of walls were covered with mirrors and tapestries. Looking directly across the room, Jareth found himself looking at his reflection in a large mirror that was rimmed with smiling goblin faces. He blinked, and then noticed the chiseled throne directly to his right. There was a man sitting on it, and he was so close to Jareth that the boy jumped back in surprise. He knew that it had to be Daemion, but he hadn't seen the goblin king in this form before. He looked back at the goblin mirror, and saw his mother's face. The dull, hot air was filled with whispers…whispers that the king didn't seem to notice. _

Jareth, my son, you are close to me! You are so close….

_The boy glanced back at the man sitting on the chair and his fingers began to slowly inch the door open. The man was staring out one of the three rectangular windows that let a little light into the room. His black hair was parted by his pale ears, and his profile was strong and angular. He was splayed about on his chair, his left hand playing absentmindedly with a key that was on a bronze chain around his neck. He emanated power and control, and, Jareth would go so far as to say, magic. He had opened the door wide enough for him to inch through, and he did so, never taking his eyes off the man that was facing away from him. He took one step forward, and the figure moved….he seemed to be breathing hard, or crying. Jareth froze, listening, as the noise became louder. Daemion was laughing. The cold, sinister chuckle of one who has had the cards delt in their favor. Daemion slowly turned his head to face Jareth, his hands still toying with the key around his neck. _

"_Well done! Well done!"_

_Each word was spoken slowly, contempt and sarcasm etched in his voice._

"_You have done the best, boy. You have come farther than anyone. And look at you! A child."_

_Daemion leisurely stepped off his throne, and began to walk around the still boy. The sound of each of his footsteps emphasized his words._

"_I should be… disgraced by this, you know. Disgraced, _embarrassed,_ even.! A boy as young as yourself making it all the way through my labyrinth—in a relatively short time too!"_

_He laughed again, standing in front of Jareth with his hands on his hips. Jareth clenched his fists. He was terrified. _

"_Why have you let me get this far? You could have stopped me—but you didn't. You _helped_ me!"_

"_Ahh," Daemion sighed, brushing his hair out of his strange eyes, "Maybe I was just moved to see a young boy so devoted to…to…What was it you were looking for again?" His hand trailed off into the air._

"_My mother."_

"_..Your mother, yes. I was moved." The king's mirth and carelessness seemed to leave him as he slumped wearily into his throne. Jareth couldn't contain his rage. He was so afraid of this powerful being, but the king had no sense of logic, or any sense at all. _

"_Of course you were! You were moved to see me looking for my mother! Is that really the only thing you could come up with?!" Jareth was yelling, Daemion didn't look at him and only continued peering out the window, his head resting on his hands. " What are you?! I can feel great power in you, but you never do anything with it!! Where is my mother?!"_

"_You dare question me, child?! I could be your great grandfather many times over! I have ruled this forsaken, desolate land for a thousand years! I have run out of ways to amuse myself, hope and love and logic has left me five hundred years ago. I have all the power of all the worlds at my fingers and here I am in this place." Daemion was angry, but still, he made no move to rise._

"_All the worlds?"_

"_Surely you cannot have come this far and not realized that there are more worlds than yours? My boy, you are in one! There are vast planes of worlds that are connected at their hearts…and others that are completely different. There are worlds set apart and worlds in between….there are dark worlds and light worlds and places full of dreams. There are worlds that hold millions of beings, and some worlds that hold only one or two."_

"_But I've studied the stars and the galaxy! There's no other worlds out there!" _

"_You are here, which proves you wrong. You cannot always believe what you see, and your kind must see to believe. But you come from a world that has distanced itself, a place that wishes not to be disgraced by illogical worlds such as mine."_

_Jareth was silenced. And only moments later when Daemion broke the silence with a gentle whisper did Jareth look up to stare at him_

"…_Where is your mother, Jareth? She's here, with us now…I can feel her…she wants to be with you again…"_

"_Where is she? I can't see her!"_

"_Jareth, you certainly didn't think that she was alive did you?"_

"_I—I saw her in my mirror…in the mirrors…she's dead?" Jareth pointed desperately to the mirrors surrounding the room. They all held his mother's image now…a shadowed sorrowful face._

"_Not dead. Not alive. Here."_

"_C-can she be alive again?"_

"_There are ways…" Daemion smiled. It didn't reach his eyes, just hung on his face like a cold, dead thing._

"_How?"_

_Daemion was looking at Jareth in a way that made him shiver. He stood up now, and just how tall he was suddenly struck the boy. The man leaned over until his face was inches from Jareth's. He paused then, and looked into his eyes, as if making a decision, a final though. Then he smiled widely, his teeth a little bit too long. _

"_My boy," He whispered, "You must become king…"_


	5. Which Depends upon a Point of View

_Jareth was once again frozen to the ground. He couldn't move. The yellow eyes that stared at him inches from his own held him paralyzed. He felt like he was being invaded, like his mind was being pried open by this strange being. He opened his mouth and tried to speak but his voice has deserted him. He swallowed and tried again._

"_How?"_

_The tall man laughed, and spread his thin fingers wide. The key dropped from his hands, bouncing off his chest with a soft thump. Jareth found himself staring at the tiny golden figure. It seemed to be laced with tiny metal webs, but it was too small to really see…_

"_It should be easy. You must know that I no longer enjoy being the king. Or I do, but only because I must. It should be easy, because, you see, I want you to win. I want you to kill me. To banish me to another plane of existance" Daemion's eyebrow's were rising farther and farther up his pale face and he had begun to pace the circular room once more. " For you see, boy, there are other worlds that are cruel and heartless and lifeless…but none so much as this one. The first thing you must know about being the king of the labyrinth, is that the labyrinth is also a power over you. I must fight you and try to win, just as everyday I must try to stop travelers from finding their way through the maze. That is why, Jareth, I helped you, in my way. I wanted you to come here, to fight, and defeat me. That the memory of your mother got mixed up in the process was only to my advantage."_

_The man was facing towards the wall opposite Jareth now, his hands clasped behind his back. As the echo of his words began to die in the room, he turned to face the boy._

"_Well?"_

_In all things there is life, and in all things there is death. Some may say that there re things in between, such as destiny and fortune, but most say that everything happens in its time, with or without purpose or reason. There is always a beginning and an end, and in all triumph there is failure. To be lonely, one must have had love. To be afraid, one must have had peace. There must be the other, for without even one, there is nothing. Jareth could not think of such things now. He was the king, but the title didn't matter anymore. The passing of the suns did not matter, but there was no escape. He could not die, but without death he couldn't really live either, for to live, one must have a life. He watched the past in his mirrors and wondered again how the strange fascination for the crystal and glass surfaces had patterned his adult life. He took off the faded glove that covered his right hand and ran his fingers over the surface of the mirrors and crystal balls that lined the walls. It was here, and only here in this room, where he could be alone, but know everything. His gaze fell upon his hand, and the discolored scars that traced horribly about his hand made him grimace. How could he forget that fight? It was so simple, but so incredibly complex…how could he forget the fight against one so powerful, in a world where the only truth was what one felt in his heart?_

"_I must kill you, to become king of the labyrinth. There is no other way. You will fight me with all you posses, which is more than I can comprehend. You wish—you expect—me to win." It was not a question._

"_Indeed."_

"_So be it."_

_Jareth knew that he was not ready. He knew that the only way that he was going to win was by luck, but he was not at all prepared for the sudden change of circumstances that left him standing alone in what appeared to be a crumbling castle courtyard. His heart was beating so fast he felt like he couldn't concentrate on anything else. Adrenaline was pumping through him as he scanned the barren, stone tiles for a sign of his oppenent. There was no trace of Daemion but to Jareth's horror, small goblins and creatures were beginning to file into the edges of the courtyard. They sat, muttering, but in all strangely silent as they seemed to wait for their king to arrive. Some eyed the dusty, ragged boy with disdain, and others with interest, but with each new arrival, the atmosphere began to thicken with anticipation. Jareth could not stand it any longer._

"_DAEMION!"_

_Jareth let his anger at the devious king fill him. He had tricked him, his mother was dead! He had come all this way for nothing, unless he could defeat Daemion._

"_DAEMION!!"_

_There was a soft, sad chuckle behind him._

"_No need to yell, child. I'm right here…"_

_He whipped around only to find a black snake twisting itself around a rusty chain. Its yellow eyes gleamed at him as its tongue flicked between its teeth._

"_What is this! I am not going to fight you in an arena!"_

_The snake grew suddenly, a writhing black dragon._

"_Oh, was there someplace else? Sorry." The voice dripped sarcasm as the dragon lunged at the boy, jaws wide. Jareth leapt out of the way, falling and skidding across the grey tiles that were the ground. He scrambled to his feet, searching frantically for anything to defend himself. His panic was obvious to the goblins, and their squealing laughter pierced his concentration. This was happening so fast. He didn't have time to make any kind of plan. He spotted a shattered lance on the other side of the courtyard, its blade thin and silver despite its obvious age. He began to start towards it, disregarding his opponent in his need for a weapon. He was completely surprised when a dark eagle shrieked and fell from the sky. He flung up his hands quickly, to shield his face, but the eagle's talon raked through his pale skin. He cried out in pain and was shocked to find the clawing stop. Opening his eyes, he found a twisted tree shielding him, and dark feathers scattering the ground. Daemion was no where to be seen. Jareth had not remembered a tree in the courtyard much less one so near him. It seemed the Labyrinth had jumped to his will without his realizing it. He smiled grimly, and then gritted his teeth at the gashes in his hands. This was going to be more difficult than he had thought, but at least the Labyrinth was on his side._

_The battle had dragged on for what seemed like hours. Jareth was exhausted, and had only managed to defending himself against Daemion's attacks. He had made it to the lance by inadvertently making the stone shift, but was not really capable of attacking with it. He had learned much, however, of the king's fighting style, learned that he rushed without thought into attacks, and this he kept in mind when he at last found a chance to win the battle…._

_Daemion didn't want to win. This was what Jareth had to take advantage of. The Labyrinth didn't want Daemion to win either; it seemed it had found a new master. It was so simple, really. Daemion didn't know that he was no longer under the Labyrinth's power. Give the King this knowledge, and Jareth would win the fight. Ripping his lance from the earth where it was lodged, he ran at Daemion, who was now in the form of a man._

"_Daemion, you don't have to fight! Let me beat you! Let me free you! Let me…" _Kill you…._The blood from Jareth's hands was streaming down his arms, but the wind was at his back, the stones under his feet pushing him forward. He didn't want to kill him, but it seemed as if he had no choice._

_And the man, stood, watching._

"_Daemion, I don't want to kill you!" Jareth screamed now, the Labyrinth wouldn't let his frenzied run slow._

_Daemion spoke with the voice of the wind, with the beating of the boy's heart, in his thoughts._

"_You must, boy. Free me."_

_And in one horrible instant, the lance plunged into Daemion, the man, the King of the Labyrinth no more. The world stilled, the stones fell into place, the wind stopped dead, the dust settled. Jareth stood, his hands clutching the lance, now towering over the fallen King. Daemion's face was young no more, but old, tired with the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. He looked up at the boy, his yellow eyes burning as he began the journey to his next world. With withered, trembling fingers he drew the golden key from around his neck and held it out to the boy._

"_Jareth. Take -take it. It's yours now. You will understand why I did this, in time. You will forgive."_

_He was gone, then, in the dust of the now present wind, his body dissolving into fine golden dust and carried into the blood red sky, away._

_Stunned, Jareth dragged himself to his feet, falling into the wall next to him. He leaned against it, horribly aware of the pain in his hands. He had won. Daemion was gone. He uncurled his fist to reveal the gold key, peculiarly gleaming and untouched by the pooling blood about it. It was closer now, and he could see it…the webs were all laced into an unending pattern, much like the labyrinth itself. In the center of the tiny web there was a silver feather, and Jareth was for an instant reminded of the Indian 'dream catchers' that he used to play with as a child. But the similarity was barley there, for this tiny object radiated magic and spark, and glowed with an inner light that the boy had not seen before. Taking it into both his hands he whispered words of hope and victory to it, closing his eyes, wishing it to heal him as he knew it was capable of. _

"_Please…."_

_And the pain was gone, and as it left him he felt the power of kings in the key, that last link that they had had to life. He felt knowledge flood him and even a little hope, and love. It shocked him, to realize that, indeed, the labyrinth was a thing of great beauty, despite its terror. He could feel the past kings' love and fear for the land that they ruled over, the fierce desire to protect it. It was all his now, and he was happy for a moment. He understood then, that he could never be with his mother, for all that remained of her was a faded memory, gone into the mist that consumed the ones who were given too completely to dreams that they forget all else. The feeling of rightness that he felt now, the feeling of belonging thrilled him as he sat on the throne of cold marble, and twirled the key between his scarred hands. As he sat, staring at the mirrors, they filled once again with the face of his mother, and he knew that, although he would never be with her, they would never be apart, and he was suddenly grateful for Daemion's apparent obsession with the mirrors. If there was one thing he could do as King, it would be to make his mother proud._

So now he sits, growing with the turning winds, in his tower of cold stone and watches the walls shift and move with certain boredom. He is tired and lonely, and wonders if it could have been different, should have been different. He knows now, but has never truly forgiven. And so, day after day, hour after hour, the King of the Goblins grows weary of the chattering voices and turns instead to the past. He takes a crystal from a special stone and wraps his gloved fingers around it, as a child might hold a beautiful stone. Leaning against the cold stone wall with a sigh, he looks once again into the crystal to the past, to see what was, what is, what might have been.


End file.
